


we're not agents of nothing

by abitchlikethis



Series: we're not agents of nothing [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The 100 (TV)
Genre: Multi, Not a Crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4073812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abitchlikethis/pseuds/abitchlikethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set ten years after the fall of SHIELD, Bellamy Blake is recruited by a secret, underground agency to destroy the organization that turned his baby sister into a monster. Or the Agents of SHIELD canon divergence AU that none of us realized we wanted or needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. your head got misplaced

**Author's Note:**

> Got this idea in my head yesterday and I couldn’t shake it, so here we go. Originally posted to my tumblr 100trash. The slowest burn Bellarke you’ll ever see, but until then it’ll drabble in ALL the ships. All characters will be introduced within due time, and POVs will probably switch occasionally. This is the prequel to the first chapter just to establish a few exposition things. Feedback would be amazing cause I’ve never written for The 100 before. ENJOY!

When Bellamy Blake startles awake from his always fractured sleep, he’s in a metal box. Which is odd, because he doesn’t remember going to sleep here. In fact, the last thing he remembers is fire, and blood, and the thunderous pitter-patter of gunshots that only war can explain.

So the metal box is odd, and he’s instantly filled with panic, heart racing as his mind reels as to how he got here, who he was captured by, and what they were going to do to him. He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of black sweatpants that aren’t his own, and he can’t repress the shiver that trembles through his form because of the drying sweat on his chest that had sprung up during the waves of his nightmares.  
As the last remnants of sleep slipped away to be replaced by a light thudding headache – he was probably concussed – Bellamy sat up slowly, noting that he hadn’t been restrained or cuffed in any way, only to be greeted by the sight of a pale, blonde woman sitting across the room from the cot he was on, seated in a fold out metal chair and…. Reading?

“Who the fuck are you? And where the fuck am I?” he demands, summoning all fury into his tone in an effort to command her attention, already glancing around the room to identify what could be used as a weapon to fight off this unknown threat that had him placed in this cage.

The woman isn’t startled, even has the audacity to look miffed as she folds the corner of the book and sets it on her lap, looking up at Bellamy with bright blue eyes as she quirked an eyebrow and kept her annoyed expression in place. “Hello, Mr. Blake,” she responds coolly, the epitome of calm and Bellamy’s immediately uneasy because of it, his brow furrowing as he stares at this unnamed woman.

“I’m sorry to startle you like this,” she continues, not moving from her seat as Bellamy stays on the cot, his jaw clenched as he waits for an explanation, “My name is Dr. Griffin, but you can call me Clarke. Do you remember what happened to you?” Her voice is softer now, less cutting and more soothing as she looks at him with pursed lips, and suddenly Bellamy feels like he’s under a spotlight. He can almost feel her picking apart his anatomy with just a stare, and he finds himself shaking his head slowly (because, ow, still hurts). He’s about to ask what the fuck she’s talking about before Clarke offers him a quick smile, nodding to herself as she comes to his aid, “You’ve been in a medically induced coma for three days. You took a pretty hard beating out there, Mr. Blake. You’re lucky we found you – you had been declared among the dead. It was only by luck we happened to check the building for survivors. Your heat signature registered on our monitors and we were able to bring you in and patch you up.”

The story sounded nice but Bellamy had no fucking idea what she was talking about, and when he voiced this, Clarke answered him with a chuckle and another nod, clasping her hands on her lap and leaning forward slightly as she spoke to him in a less clinical tone while holding an almost uncomfortable degree of eye contact with him. Bellamy was starting to remember why he hated doctors.  
“Forgive me, we weren’t sure how bad the amnesia was, but I’m sure pieces will come back over time. Mr. Blake, you were out on a scouting mission in eastern Afghanistan. Reliable intel sent you and your men into several buildings along the Afghani-Chinese border, where you were to rescue civilians and take out any enemy forces. The intelligence had been a trap, and several detonations went off in the basements of these buildings, causing them to collapse on top of you, your men, and civilians……”

As soon as the word “reliable” came out of Clarke’s mouth, Bellamy’s mind’s eye was forced right back into the world she was describing, and now he realized why he had dreamt of fire, of screams, of blood and bullets and war. Because he had been there. Suddenly, it felt like an impenetrable weight had fallen onto Bellamy’s shoulders and chest, like his lungs were collapsing and he was drowning in his agony. The man’s eyes squeezed shut as his hands fist in the hospital sheets that adorned his bed. The doctor didn’t need to keep describing it because Bellamy was there, all over again, hearing people die all around him as he was crushed by the weight of the rocks, and he wanted to scream as he realized they hadn’t just failed, they’d been ambushed, and he should’ve known, he should’ve known, all those lives….  
“How many?” he growled out over whatever Dr. Griffin was describing in that rational way of hers, and he heard her stop and take a breath. He knew he didn’t need to elaborate, that she knew what he was asking, but he did anyway, wrenching his eyes open to look at her and bark out, angrier and louder this time, “How many of those people died?”

He didn’t have to say “because of me” because he knew it was implied, knew it by the way something unnameable flashed in Clarke’s eyes.

His chest was heaving (was the air ten times thicker because of the metal trapping him or the sting of loss in his throat?) as he stared at her, waiting for her response. He knew in the back of his head that she wouldn’t give him a number, that this was some type of trauma care and the last thing you tell an unstable patient is something like that.

“Three hundred,” she said, clinical and cool, blinking once, twice as she stared at him. Bellamy’s surprise at her actually responding to his question was heavily outweighed by the stabbing feeling in his stomach, as if someone twisted a knife one hundred and eighty degrees and then shoved it in just a bit farther.

Before he had a chance to respond, a chance to truly grieve, Clarke was speaking again, and it took everything within Bellamy to anchor himself to her voice and force himself to push the emotions inside of him down down down to hollow of his chest, to be addressed later when he was alone and ready. “There were ten other survivors, all of which were civilians. You’re lucky to be alive, and even more, you should be grateful,” was her suddenly cold response as Clarke finally stood, and Bellamy wanted to laugh at the irony as he saw the cover of the book she had been reading before he woke – _The Art of War_. Unbelievable.

It was hard to be angry at such a frigid statement however, because she had a good point, even if Bellamy was too lost in his sadness to agree. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, sucking in a shaky breath, and he heard the metal hinges on the door to the room wheeze before Clarke’s voice addressed him one last time, “Someone will bring you a shirt and some shoes in a moment, along with your breakfast. Then they’ll bring you to my office. We have a lot to talk about, Mr. Blake.”

And with that, the door closed and she was gone, and it wasn’t until the heavy metal thudded shut that Bellamy realized he still had no fucking clue where he was or why he was still here. He wondered if she did that on purpose. Fuck.


	2. funny you should ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set ten years after the fall of SHIELD, Bellamy Blake is recruited by a secret, underground agency to destroy the organization that turned his baby sister into a monster. Or the Agents of SHIELD canon divergence AU that none of us realized we wanted or needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote the first chapter right after I completed the prequel. And a wild Monty appears! When I said slow burn, I mean like, twenty chapter slow burn. So buckle up and get ready for this ride. I’m sure I’ll weave a few Agents of SHIELD and other Marvel references as I go along, for now I’m just establishing more exposition information. Feedback would be amazing cause I’ve never written for The 100 before. ENJOY!

Within ten minutes of Dr. Griffin leaving the room, the door swung open again to reveal a short, young Asian man – young enough to look like a kid – who threw Bellamy a closed mouth smile as he carried in a tray of food, Bellamy’s alleged shirt and shoes tucked under his arm. He was in a neat, short sleeved, blue button down and slacks, with a badge hanging around his neck on a Pokémon lanyard, which made the tiniest hint of a smile grace the sides of Bellamy’s lips as he chuckled softly. The kid’s smile grew as he handed Bellamy the tray, then the clothes, before he licked his lips and asked in a tone that was careful more than it was timid, “Who’s your starter?”

And, of course, Bellamy knew exactly what he was asking. “Charmander,” he answered shortly, picking up a piece of bacon and taking a bite, pleasantly surprised that it didn’t taste like cafeteria trash. Looks like wherever he was actually had homemade food. The kid sat down in the seat vacated by Clarke, his grin wide and pleasant as he shook his head and leaned back, “Seriously? Squirtle all the way.”

“Yeah, if you don’t like a challenge,” Bellamy responded with a chuckle, deciding with his usual snap judge of character that he liked this guy, whoever he may be, “So, what’s your name, kid?”

“Monty, and I’m not a kid,” the other male responded with ease, no hint of malice in his voice which lead Bellamy to believe he probably wasn’t the first one to assume so, “Well, I guess I technically am a teen, but I’m definitely not a kid.”

Instead of asking more about Monty – Bellamy could get to that later – he moved on to a more pressing matter as he began to eat the eggs on his plate, waving his fork in Monty’s direction, “And where am I, exactly?”

A smirk graced Monty’s lips as he shook his head, wagging his finger at Bellamy as if he was a bad dog or something, before lightly chuckling, “Not my place to say. Clarke will tell you, don’t worry. Just focus on eating and dressing yourself before you worry about trivial things like locations and destinations and all that.”

“You’re no help,” Bellamy grumbled and Monty laughed and shrugged before standing to lean against the wall behind him instead, his body language making Bellamy eat just that little bit faster so him and his welcome wagon could be on their way. “Believe me, it’s more impressive when Clarke says it, but don’t worry. You really are safe. Even if her demeanor tells you otherwise.”

“Yeah, actually,” Bellamy frowned, finishing up his food and standing to throw the black t-shirt and shoes on, cocking his head at Monty, “What’s her deal, exactly? Is she always so…?”

Bellamy couldn’t figure out the best word to use, and Monty grinned cheekily at him before nodding, opening the heavy metal door and gesturing for Bellamy to leave first, “Yes. She is ‘always so’ like that. It’s sorta her thing. You’ll get used to it.”

Ah, and just as Bellamy was starting to feel less like a prisoner, he’s hit with the realization that everyone he’s spoken to intend on him to be staying for an undisclosed amount of time in a place he didn’t know with people he had never met. He could tell his trust issues were just going to flourish here.

Monty leads him down a hallway that looks like a longer version of his room – all sheet metal on every side, with metal doors, and he’s a little bit worried about what death trap he’s currently residing in when they reach the end of the hallway and Monty waves his badge in front of a little black box. The metal door slides to the right to reveal an elevator, a high quality one at that, because Bellamy had half expected a dinky little mine elevator or something to take him to… wherever. He was a little overwhelmed by the smell of rust and the echoes of footsteps, and he was opening his mouth to bitch when Monty cut him off with another chuckle and smirk. “Believe me, you’ll get used to it,” he said as they got in, the elevator doors closing as Monty hit the seven button – they were apparently on level twelve out of fifteen – and the box started to descend, leaving the two men in a comfortable silence.

When the doors opened again, it was like Bellamy had switched buildings entirely. This floor was all white tiles, white walls, and fluorescent lighting that made Bellamy feel like he was suddenly thrust into an episode of Grey’s Anatomy, and suddenly he missed the dark dinginess of the metal floor. He must’ve been glowering because Monty clapped him lightly on the back before leading the way. There were no windows anywhere, on either of the two floors Bellamy had been on, so he had reason to believe they were underground, which explained why it was so chilly. He shoved his hands deep in his sweatpants pockets, ignoring the squeaky noises his shoes were making on the tile, as he followed Monty down five doors – he had counted – before the boy knocked on a silver door on the right side. It opened to reveal Dr. Griffin, who smiled and nodded at Monty before stepping out. “I can take it from here, Mr. Green,” she said with a pat on his shoulder, and Monty nodded before waving at Bellamy and walking further down the hallways, disappearing around a corner. Clarke made sure to lock the door behind her – Bellamy was curious as to what was inside – before she walked Bellamy back the way he had come without a word, which made him frown.

“If we weren’t talking in your office, why did he…” Bellamy started before Clarke cut him off, waving her badge in front of the elevator’s box so the doors slid open. “That wasn’t my office,” Clarke laughed softly, stepping into the box with Bellamy at her side – this time, she picked level two – and she turned her gaze onto him with a small smile. “That was the hospital ward, where I spend a lot of my time. There was a slight emergency I had to take care of. Don’t worry, Mr. Blake, you’ll get the full tour eventually.”

The doors slid open again and she stepped out, and this level made a bit more sense. It took on the aesthetic of a military base with concrete being the material of choice, although large glass windows on the right side of the hall peered down into level one beneath it. Clarke walked at a fast enough pace that Bellamy wasn’t given the chance to look down just yet, and at the end of this long hallway was the option to take a left or to walk through two glass sliding doors. Clarke opted for going straight and waved her badge to grant them access to a large, circular room that Bellamy could only really label a war room from being in a few previously in his military career. There was a round table smack dab in the middle of the room, with a smattering of chairs scattered around it in no particular order. To the right was the same large glass window that had adorned the hall, while to the left was a giant screen with a motherboard underneath it. Although the screen was off, the board was lit up with various lights and a plethora of buttons. The last thing in the room Bellamy noticed was the desk on the far wall in front of him, an executive chair tucked in behind it, and that’s when he realized that this must be Clarke’s office.

He made a small sound of surprised approval in the back of his throat as he took it all in, as Clarke rounded in front of him and opted to lean against the edge of the circular table, crossing her arms over her chest as a small smile adorned her lips.

“Mr. Blake, I’d like to welcome to you to our base, the Dropship,” she said, and Bellamy registered that she finally had given the location a name, but he was too busy looking at the table itself. It wasn’t just a table – it was a gigantic tactical map of the entire European-Indo-Asian region, and Bellamy couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Y’know if this table wasn’t so big, you wouldn’t need an office this size.”

“Charming as usual,” Clarke chuckled, not taking offense as she turned to watch him slowly make his way around the large map, his fingers brushing regions he’d gone to for missions, stationed in, heard of… The movements were not missed by Dr. Griffin. She didn’t continue, and Bellamy glanced up at her with a frown, finally taking her in for the first time since he had woken in this place. She was shorter than him, with straw gold hair and those bright blue eyes, petite in figure and graceful in balance but she carried herself with a bit more than just that, which made Bellamy conclude she not only had authority, but also power. She was clad in all black, like him – black jeans, black tank top, black leather jacket, black combat boots – and her badge was on a galaxy lanyard, which was an easy match considering her lack of color variation. Bellamy concluded she was beautiful in the coldest sense of the word, like a snowstorm on a weekend, and it was that steel edge to her that commanded the type of respect only a leader could require.

He bit back whatever sarcastic comment he wanted to make, and instead nodded at her to continue, ready to give her his full attention as he straightened up from the table, falling into a familiar solder’s stance.

“Mr. Blake,” she started from her side of the table, lips pursed and eyes bright, “Have you ever heard of SHIELD?” Bellamy snorted at the question before giving her a curt nod, intoning with a slight smirk, “I did three tours outside the country, Dr. Griffin, I didn’t live under a rock.”

Clarke shook her head and began to make her way over towards Bellamy as she spoke, her steps careful and slow as she held his gaze, her tone matter of fact, “When SHIELD fell, the U.S. military – as I’m sure you know – scrambled to come to terms with the fact that their most efficient and secretive intelligence agency had been compromised on such a large scale. It inevitably led to a sense of distrust among the other agencies, as well as the military itself, because SHIELD wasn’t the only organization affected – it just was the one that was targeted. Since then, HYDRA has been neutralized as a threat, but their tactics and their objectives have merely been progressed by other radical groups. At first, it was easier to just let other agencies handle it, until it quickly became obvious that SHIELD’s secrecy was one of their biggest advantages, especially against foreign threats.”

By now, Clarke had stepped around Bellamy to lean against her desk, arms crossed over her chest again as she regarded the soldier in front of her, and Bellamy knew there were a hundred questions in his eyes that she would get to answering. She studied him for a moment, remaining quiet, and Bellamy figured she was waiting for him to ask the most obvious one of them all.

“So this is the new SHIELD?” He offered, and the small smile that twitched the sides of her mouth let him know he had asked the correct question. Clarke bit her bottom lip before shaking her head and sitting upright. “Not exactly,” she intoned, and gesturing with two fingers for him to follow, she lead the way out of her office, taking the hall next to it to the other side as Bellamy fell into step beside her. This hallway had windows on either side, and it was extremely long, and they walked at a slow enough pace that Clarke was able to talk as Bellamy observed what was going on underneath them.

“This is the ARK agency, the Grounder operation. Our agency is large but this operation is small, well-funded, and underground. We’re located in an abandoned military base at a classified location, which everyone here refers to as the Dead Zone,” Clarke rattled off as they walked, and Bellamy was fascinated with what was going on below. Military vehicles of all makes, models, and years were being fitted with new exteriors, upgraded interiors, and weapons that were loaded up on the walls. Although the space was wide and full of machines to be refurbished, it looked like there was only a few workers, each on their own vehicle. Bellamy shot Clarke a questioning look and she slowed by one of the windows, pointing down at the heads. “This is our mechanics and engineering division, led by those two by the red caravan, Miss Reyes and Mr. Wick. Don’t worry, you’ll meet everyone in due time.”

With that, she was walking again, and it only took Bellamy one long stride to catch up as Clarke began talking again, “The agency was established a few years back, five years after SHIELD had fallen. When the government and military realized they needed an organization like it, they created us. We’re overseen by a Chancellor and a Council, hence the giant screen in the war room of my office. We’re the most successful operation under the ARK agency with the highest retention rate of successful missions, which I attribute to our top notch recruiting program.”

They were at the end of the hall, and Clarke flashed her badge quickly so they could step through the automatic glass doors without missing a beat, an identical hallway stretched out in front of them again. When Bellamy looked down this time, however, he saw rows of metal tables that had thousands upon thousands of different weapons, most of them completely taken apart, before glancing over at Clarke. “Our weapons division,” she offered, pointing down to a man in a leather jacket, cargos, and a grey beanie standing at the front of the room as they continued to walk, “Led by Mr. Miller, our weapons specialist.”

She cleared her throat, stopping before the next set of doors and adopting her usual clinical tone (which Bellamy was starting to realize was just how she talked), “The Grounder operation’s recruiting program isn’t the most ethical, but we’ve found it works for us considering our success within the agency and our need for secrecy.”

Bellamy’s brow furrowed at that as he crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at the blonde as he asked, unable to help himself, “And what exactly does that mean?”

Clarke didn’t look the least bit phased by what she said next, although it confused the hell out of Bellamy, “We recruit dead people.”

With that, she swiped her badge and led the way into the next hallway.


	3. a cemetery deep below the sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set ten years after the fall of SHIELD, Bellamy Blake is recruited by a secret, underground agency to destroy the organization that turned his baby sister into a monster. Or the Agents of SHIELD canon divergence AU that none of us realized we wanted or needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m just hammering out chapters at this point because I’m digging this AU for my writing flex purposes. More characters and plot things introduced in this chapter! Also I think this chapter might be ridiculously long…. Feedback would be amazing cause I’ve never written for The 100 before. ENJOY!

Bellamy is on her heels in the next instant, blinking in confusion as he demanded in that gruff soldier tone of his, “Wait, what? Dead people? You can’t just – you have to explain that!”

Bellamy was shocked to hear a twinkling, bright laugh leave Clarke’s mouth in response as she glanced over at him, and he made a mental note to himself that he liked _that_ side of the doctor more than the analytical side by a long shot, which meant he would definitely try to see more of it as their time here progressed.

“All the people who work here are dead, as considered by the U.S. government,” Clarke nodded as they continued. Underneath them now was a few rows of monitors and motherboards not unlike the one in her office, except that there seemed to be one person for every five stations. Bellamy recognized a familiar dark haired figure sitting at the front at the largest and widest of the stations, moving with practiced ease from board to board with the help of his rolling chair. Clarke noticed, like she seemed to notice everything, and she noted softly with a flick of her finger, “Mr. Green is in charge of our technical division.

“Like you, Mr. Blake, all of the people here have been forgotten by their country. Proclaimed dead without a second chance. We here at ARK give them that second chance if they wish,” Clarke explained, and Bellamy’s brow knit together. “Yes, Mr. Blake,” Clarke chuckled, “Everyone who works here does so voluntarily. We keep no prisoners – unless we were told to, I guess. It’s either this, or become a ghost. I’m not sure the U.S. government has paper work for reclaiming your life, and if they did, I’m sure it’s a lengthy process.”

She had a point, and Bellamy grumbled in his throat but continued on behind her as they moved through the next set of doors. This time, the hallway had a large railing along the side of it and two sets of staircases that led down to level one, as well as a set of elevator doors at the end. Clarke stopped walking and rounded to the balcony, leaning against the railing to look down on what seemed to be half an athletic training facility and half a medical bay. Bellamy didn’t quite understand the need for a second medical facility if they had a whole floor dedicated to being a hospital wing, but he also had a pretty good idea that Clarke would explain so there really was no need to ask the question.

Bellamy leaned against the railing as well, though his attention was focused on the blonde, waiting for her next wave of information, but the air between them felt heavier now, and Clarke didn’t look like she wanted to talk from the darkness that had clouded in her eyes. It took a few long minutes, but eventually she breathed in deeply and sighed, turning to look at Bellamy. He had been a soldier long enough to see loss etched into his comrades’ eyes, and Clarke’s were no different.

“Mr. Blake,” she started, the ghost of her clinical tone echoing in her words though not quite all there, as if she was forcing it now more than ever, “This is our WARRIOR division. Our special agents train here.

“This is the hard part to explain,” she offered with an embarrassed chuckle, shaking her head as she broke eye contact with him, looking down at the mats as Clarke clasped her hands together, “So I need you to bear with me, and try to save your questions until I’m done.”

Bellamy nodded his agreement just as a metal door on level one swung open, and two people – a man and a woman – came striding out and onto the mats. No protective head or hand gear, they began to spar, lightly at first but within the first few punches thrown, they began to fight more fiercely. Clarke regarded them without a change in her expression, looking at them without watching them.

“When I mentioned foreign threats earlier, there’s particularly one that our operation is tasked with handling. The organization calls themselves the Mountain Men, because their base of operations is stationed in Mount Weather – a code word for a location that is non-existent to our knowledge.”

“I’ve heard of the Mountain Men,” Bellamy interrupted, even though he was told not to, but the incredulous look on his face masked the fact that his blood had turned cold at the name, and he was staring at Clarke with wide eyes as she pursed her lips, “They’re a folk tale.”

“They’re very much not,” she replied icily, shooting him a look that was eerily reminiscent to a scold, “Just because what they do sounds like a child’s nightmare doesn’t mean they aren’t real, Mr. Blake. What have you heard?”

Raking a hand through his hair, Bellamy let out a heavy breath, “I mean, just soldier talk around the fire. We tell those stories to new guys to scare the piss out of them. Guys in masks who take dying soldiers and turn them into flesh eating zombies? That’s… this is all horseshit if you’re telling me these people are real!”

Clarke snorted out what appeared to be a laugh, shaking her head, “Sounds like a whisper down the lane kind of ruse. I can see why you wouldn’t take me seriously.

“The Mountain Men don’t do that, per say. What they do….” Clarke paused for a moment before looking back down at her two agents, who even Bellamy could see were starting to get bloody from their match, her voice quiet as she murmured, “What they do is much, much worse.

“I’m inclined to believe you know the story of Captain America,” Bellamy nodded as she began, her hands drawn into tight little fists around each other, “HYDRA attempted to recreate the super serum used for decades, and for a while it was the main focus of their organization to create super soldiers, until they made something better.”

“The Winter Soldier,” Bellamy supplemented, and Clarke nodded at him before continuing.

“After HYDRA and Mr. Barnes were taken out of the picture, and with the threat of alien attacks and nuclear wars terrorizing every government’s dreams, organizations started popping up left and right with the idea to try to make super soldiers again. More importantly, to utilize powered people. These foreign threats wanted to have it all – the perfect defense system, an Avengers team for every country worried about being attacked without the U.S. being involved."

“That sounds like playing with fire,” Bellamy added in a deadpan, watching one of the agents fall to the mat with a hard thud and wincing at the sound, “Really, really unstable, uncontrollable fire.”

“It is,” Clarke sighed, “and it was. Especially because that kind of genetic mutilation requires insane amounts of experimentation and too often, death. When government budgets ran out for funding those kind of interests, most of those foreign threats fell out of the race aside from a select few, which either had the public funding to support it, or the private sector’s interest in continuing. As different organizations fell, the scientists and doctors and other freaks who found joy in hurting people joined ranks in other operations, and thus, we have our region’s basket case in the form of the Mountain Men.”

“You still haven’t said what they do,” Bellamy prodded softly, now more confused than ever as to what his place was within the ARK, although he had a theory that Clarke wasn’t saying it because she didn’t want to.

Clearing her throat, that clinical tone of hers came out to play in full force as she nodded, turning her full body to face Bellamy. “The Mountain Men developed their own program using minds from HYDRA called the Cerberus Project. After patching up those dying soldiers you’ve heard about, they introduce their bodies to their own concoction of the super serum. The bad news is, it works,” Clarke inhaled sharply with another glance down at her agents, before looking back at Bellamy, “The good news is, we know how to beat it.”

“Then I’m confused,” Bellamy stated, raising an eyebrow.

“The badder news is, there’s more of them than there are of us,” Clarke turned away from him again, resting her elbows on the railing, and Bellamy copied her for sake of the conversation, “The worse news is, we don’t have super soldiers or powered people. And we don’t kill unless necessary. Down here, every life matters. With our focus on rehabilitation, there are a lot of… struggles. The serum is tricky to combat, and we lose more people from it and them than we seem to take.”

“You’re fighting a losing battle, from the sound of it,” Bellamy shrugged, and he heard Clarke huff next to him, although it sounded more like an agreement than a disproval.

“Which is where you come in,” Clarke intoned as she straightened up, looking at Bellamy’s face as she evaluated his reaction. He gave her none, only looking up with her with questions in his eyes that he was told to save, and when he gave no response, Clarke sighed exasperatedly.

“As far as anyone knows, you’re dead,” she began to outline, “You have no family, no friends outside of the military, no abhorrent medical history, and no outstanding debts. You do, however, have a brilliant Marine record, filled with awards and honors and acts of bravery. You show obvious leadership qualities even if your file says you don’t play well with others. Your hand to hand combat skills are top notch, you can shoot the legs off a fly from five football fields away with wind, and you’ve been noted as a proficient strategist aside from your holy regard for human life. Mr. Blake, you’re exactly the kind of person I’m looking for to lead our WARRIOR division now that the head spot has been vacated.”

“This is a job offer?” Bellamy responded dumbly, cheeks flushed equally from the onslaught of praise and initial surprise of it all, “I don’t even know what you’re asking of me exactly.”

“I currently lead this division,” Clarke said with a gesture towards the mats, the agents now nowhere in sight, “However, I also lead this entire operation, so I haven’t been going into the field with them. Without supervision, without a leader with the right goals and objectives, my people are dying. They either drop like flies or the Mountain Men pluck them up and put them into the Cerberus program. I’m sick of seeing the people I care about destroyed but I can’t go on missions with an entire base that needs to be run left unguarded and unorganized. And without someone like you, that’s going to keep happening.”

Bellamy straightened up now, his hands raising with palms up and out as he shook his head, without really even thinking about it, “Slow down there, Clarke, I’m not… I mean, you literally just told me an hour ago that I caused the death of three hundred people, so why in God’s name do you think I’d be suited for something like this? I’m going to have to take a hard pass, I… I appreciate the opportunity but I’d rather be dead than…”

“You are dead,” Clarke cut him off bluntly, her gaze hard as she looked at him and Bellamy had the overwhelming feeling again that he was being analyzed under a microscope, “And I’m not done my sales pitch yet. I still have a little bit more information, and something else to show you, before you can give me your final answer.”

With that, Clarke pushed off the railing and brushed past him, making her way to the staircase closest to them for her descent. Bellamy turned and followed her, curious now even if he still intended on saying no, the three hundred lives he had lost and been reminded of making it feel like something sharp and heavy was in his chest. As they got closer to the mat, Bellamy was almost surprised by how much blood had been left on it by the two agents, and wondered if some direction is was what these people needed, or maybe a better creative outlet for whatever shit was pent up inside of them.

“The answer is direction, Mr. Blake,” Clarke responded coolly, and Bellamy scrunched his nose at his own idiocy for saying that out loud – decorated soldier or not, he still had a terrible case of head in ass syndrome, which his mother had called incurable, “and that shit inside of them is the next topic we have to talk about – the serum.”

“Wait,” Bellamy came to a dead halt on the edge of the mat, not even three feet from where a bloody, smeared handprint lay, “You have some agents who were introduced to the Cerberus serum?”

Clarke rounded to look at him, her face expressionless but the ocean of her eyes completely still, which was scarier than a storm ever could be, “ _All_ of our special agents in the WARRIOR division have been rehabilitated from the serum.”

“And you want me to deal with that?” Bellamy exclaimed, scrutinizing Clarke and wondering what game she was possibly playing at.

“I didn’t realize they had included lack of retention of the English language on your record, must have missed that part,” she responded, and Bellamy realized if he wasn’t on the receiving end of it, Clarke sass was right up his alley, “I said direct. Lead. Not deal.”

“Then explain to me how this possibly works?”

“If you’d shut up, I’d be glad to,” and with that, Clarke turned on her heel and began the trek across the expansive training facility towards the metal door the agents had first appeared out of, with Bellamy on her flank, awaiting explanation as they passed through and made their way down a similar hallway to the metal one on level seven.

“First, logistics. From what we’ve evaluated, the Cerberus serum has the intended effects of the super serum. It makes the recipient stronger, faster, and more agile with a sharpened focus. However, unlike the super serum, the Cerberus serum has to be introduced back into the body at least once every three days, and that’s pushing it, so recipients usually get doses daily to keep their tolerance levels up. However, there are side effects,” Clarke detailed, slowing down as they walked. Unlike the hall on level seven, this one was adorned with the same wide windows as level two, looking into much smaller rooms that looked to be a variety of things – bedrooms, monitoring facilities, and more emergency medical locations, although all of the ones they passed were empty. Until Clarke stopped, and on either side were the two agents who had been sparing earlier, each sitting in a chair with an IV, eyes closed. Bellamy looked between the two rooms, frowning before saying, “Isn’t it a bit odd that we’re just… staring?”

“One way windows,” Clarke answered softly, her body turned and eyes focused on the female agent. Now that they were up close, Bellamy was able to see that both agents had tribal like tattoos – although the patterns looked more alien than native – that seemed to cover every part of their body.

“The Cerberus serum causes external damage to the skin tissue because it sucks out all the nutrients to supplement the expansive growth and strengthening of the muscle tissue as well as the blood vessels and arteries,” Clarke said in a voice barely above a murmur, so Bellamy stepped up right beside her, arms almost touching, as he mimicked her gaze onto the female agent seated before them. After a split second, with residual horror, Bellamy realized that they weren’t adorned with tattoos – it was blackened skin, dead and twisted in patterns along their skin like a subway map across their bodies.

“It also causes a rapid spike in body temperature, which the body is usually able to compensate for like it would during a fever. The catch is that if the recipient gets too emotional – wrath, grief, excitement – over too short of a period of time, they…” Clarke faltered for a moment before making a little ball with her hands in front of her face and fanning them out animatedly with a little “boof” to mimic an explosion.

Bellamy catalogued the adorable little gesture as something to address later, along with the plethora of other things he had been exposed to today, to turn his gaze onto Clarke with dread in his eyes, asking slowly, “Are you… telling me that this serum…”

“Causes rapid spontaneous combustion. Yes. The heart beats too fast, the serum spreads too quickly throughout the body, the agonizing pain kicks in and within minutes their cardiovascular system begins to melt, allowing for internal bleeding. The serum gets on other internal organs, disintegrates the muscles and skin, and boom. Meat bomb,” Clarke dead panned, swallowing hard enough that Bellamy could see it, and he wondered for a moment if one of those meat bombs had been close to her in the past.

“As if that isn’t condemnable enough,” Clarke pressed on, a venom leaking into her tone that Bellamy could tell she had been struggling this whole time to keep out, “To keep their soldiers from exploding, the Mountain Men have utilized old SHIELD and HYDRA technologies to eradicate their memories. Without their memories, they can’t remember what emotions are, how to feel them, or how to be distracted by them. They’ve perfected the super soldier to the best of their ability – numb, tied to nothing, well-oiled war machines with no regard for human life and if they act out of line, they’re quickly eradicated by the very thing that makes them super. They call them Reapers, because they’re the bringers of death.”

“Sounds like something out of a horror sci-fi movie,” Bellamy offered, trying and failing to lighten the mood as Clarke turned a stony gaze onto him, unblinking as she replied curtly, “Aliens descended onto New York City ten years ago, a man with a metal arm was kept alive for eighty years without aging a day, and the only thing standing between us and an all-out galactic war are a bunch of super humans with rogue personalities. Mr. Blake, if you’re worried about being a part of a horror sci-fi movie, I’m afraid to say you’ve been living in one for some time now.”

They were both quiet for a moment, watching the female agent in front of them breathing slowly as if asleep, and it was after a silent minute had passed that Clarke spoke up again, her voice softer and sadder this time, “Her name is Lexa. It’s the one she chose after being rehabilitated. She’s tactical, distrustful, and she keeps her humanity out of battles. She has amazing emotional control because she represses it all, and most nights she wakes up sobbing for someone named Costia, whose face she can’t remember but name she can’t forget.

“And this is Lincoln,” Clarke turned and Bellamy copied, leaning against the window to look across the hall at the male agent seated with his IV, who had his eyes open as if awake but from the distant look in his eyes, he seemed eons away. “He underwent the Cerberus program as a teenager and survived for years, longer than any of the others. It was near impossible to get it out of his system, let alone keep him alive, but he’s a fighter. He uses Lexa as an anchor for his emotions when needed, although he doesn’t seem to feel anything very fully after being depleted of his humanity for so long. He’s positively lethal but refuses to kill anyone, Mountain Men or otherwise, but he has excellent field knowledge when it comes to wilderness survival and is able to navigate without any kind of man made aid. I could drop him in the middle of Siberia and he’d probably find his way back.”

“So this is what you wanted me to see,” Bellamy frowned, looking over at the blonde with apprehension evident in furrow of his expression, “and this is the information you wanted me to hear? Because I’m sorry, Clarke, but this is still too much. A hard no is going to be coming your way soon if this pitch is over. From what I’m deducing right now, these are the only two special agents in your entire operation, and they’re loose cannons. The next mission you’d send us on would be suicide, for me at the very least.”

Blinking once, Clarke mirrored his frown before worrying her lower lip between her teeth, glancing back at Lexa for a moment before closing her eyes and letting out a heavy sigh. “Then I have no choice than to bring out my closing argument,” she murmured to herself, pushing off the wall and beginning the trek down the hallway. With a soft groan, Bellamy made way to follow her, wondering what else she could possibly offer that would make him agree to such a self-destructive job offer. Bellamy might hate himself deep down, but he could only do that if he was alive, and being dead wasn’t really in his five year plan, regardless of what government documents say otherwise.

“When I said every person was here in this bunker voluntarily, I meant it,” Clarke began carefully, like she was tiptoeing what she really wanted to say, “But there’s more to it. Everyone here, in the Grounder division, is here because they lost someone at Mount Weather’s hand.”

One point for Bellamy for being right about something today, but he internalized his smugness for the sake of the conversation.

Clarke stopped outside the double doors at the end of the hallway, turning to face Bellamy as he stepped in front of her, and he hadn’t realized how short she was compared to him until now. She had to look up at him just to make direct eye contact, but there was something dark in the blues of her irises, something akin to fear.

“Mr. Blake, I’ve read your file pretty thoroughly, and I’ve made necessary inquiries into your past. I know you never knew your father, that your mother died when you were eighteen, and that you lost your sister, Octavia, a year ago when a mortar exploded underneath her Humvee during her first tour in the Congo.”

Bellamy face hardened as his personal information was rattled off to him, his eyes flashing a particularly harsh black at the mention of his late sister, the loss of the person he had cared about more than anything in the world still fresh and bitter in his heart. But he stayed silent like a good soldier as he awaited Clarke’s point.

Licking her lips, Clarke took a deep breath before squaring her shoulders, trying to draw herself up to full height as she gave Bellamy an equally hard stare, lips pursed, “Mr. Blake, I need you to keep your emotions in check and your mind rational before I say this, but… What if I was to tell you that your sister hadn’t died that day?”

Bellamy was through the double doors before Clarke could even call out his name to stop.


	4. tattooed tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set ten years after the fall of SHIELD, Bellamy Blake is recruited by a secret, underground agency to destroy the organization that turned his baby sister into a monster. Or the Agents of SHIELD canon divergence AU that none of us realized we wanted or needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so much shorter, I'm so sorry, but I'm going to be posting another update or two tonight probably so please don't hate me <3 But Octavia finally makes her first appearance, and next chapter I'll introduce a BUNCH of characters so the main plot can really get rolling. All feedback is welcomed - this is my first time writing the 100 so criticism and ideas would be greatly appreciated. ENJOY! (if you can, this chapter hurts)

“Mr. Blake, wait!” came the echo of Clarke’s voice behind him, but Bellamy couldn’t hear anything as he stood frozen, transfixed in horror at the sight in front of him.

Because there she was, his baby sister in the flesh, upright and hanging from shackles clasped around her wrists and secured at her ankles, her head hung in unconsciousness so that dark brown strands obscured the front of her face. She was covered in dried blood and mud, wearing an outfit almost identical to Clarke’s had it not been so tattered and torn, leaving rags to hang off her arms and hip.

Something hard and sharp settled in Bellamy’s chest as he began to see red, an anger coursing through his veins that he only tapped into when needed in battle. He felt Clarke’s presence behind him and when she touched his shoulder, he whipped around, a hand going to the girl’s throat as he all but dragged her towards the closest wall and pinned her tiny body against it.

“What have you done to her?!” the soldier bellowed, trapping Clarke there with the entire weight of his body as he lifted her just a bit higher, feeling her gasp for air under where his hand was blocking her windpipe.

Clarke held a steely gaze against his own as she clasped her hands together and, in a flurry of movements, rose them above her head and brought them down hard onto Bellamy’s elbow, caving his arm down enough to slip his grip onto her chin; with a sturdy kick to the top of his knee from her higher vantage point, Bellamy was sent to the ground. Suddenly, there was more than just them in the room as two guards rushed forward, grabbing Bellamy’s wrists and restraining them behind his back as he fought against them, to no avail.

There wasn’t an ounce of fear evident on Clarke’s face as she stared down at him. Just disgust as she all but growled, “I told you to keep your emotions in check, Mr. Blake. For a soldier, following orders isn’t one of your strong suits.

“We aren’t the enemy,” she intoned, the ice in her eyes matching her tone as she sank down to her haunches in front of him, and Bellamy stopped fighting against the men restraining him long enough to regard the tiny blonde and decide that his instincts still believed her since her eyes didn’t seem capable of lying.

As for being a threat, Bellamy was sure put in his place for misconceiving that Clarke couldn’t hold her own. It now made sense to him why she was put in charge of the WARRIOR program in the first place – plus, Bellamy couldn’t help but wonder what other parts of Clarke were hidden away inside of her. He suddenly wanted to pick her apart piece by piece the same way she constantly, unknowingly seemed to do to him.

“Prove it,” he gritted through his teeth, and Clarke sighed before standing, and with a flick of her wrist, she waved off the guards. They dropped Bellamy’s wrists without hesitation, and he rubbed at them for a moment before standing, turning his back on Octavia’s limp form to settle his hardened gaze on Clarke, waiting for an explanation.

As he would come to learn, she always gave one. “We found Octavia the same day we found you,” Clarke lamented, matching Bellamy’s expression with her own cold regard, “From what we’ve gathered, she’s been a part of the Cerberus program for a year now, which means her body is in peak physical form. She’s young, and she’s strong, so she’s been recovering at an astounding rate, which leads us to believe some residual serum is left in her body that’s helping with that, or she got a dosage hours before we found her.

“She was the Reaper that set off the detonation for the buildings you and your men were in,” Clarke continued, softer now as she stepped forward so that they were shoulder to shoulder, her gaze fixed behind him now on the unconscious girl they both wanted to save. Clarke’s hand came up to clasp his shoulder, and although it was his first instinct to, the soldier didn’t shrug it off, instead opting to hang his head and rub a calloused hand over his eyes as he listened.

“They left her there to die, Mr. Blake. We fished her out of the bottom of the wreckage, but she did the half the work herself. When we found her, she was so beaten up and losing so much blood, I’m amazed she didn’t go into shock. But the adrenaline and the fresh dose kept her alive long enough for her to dig herself out from almost five feet of stone, cement, and steel, which weakened her enough that we were able to sedate her and bring her here for rehabilitation. She’s going to be alright,” Clarke concluded with a sigh, which Bellamy knew from a lifetime worth of disappointments meant there was bad news to follow.

“But?” he prompted, voice gruff but equally as soft as Clarke’s, and he felt more than heard her take a deep breath as she stepped back in his line of sight, looking up at him with a sadness in her eyes that he was beginning to believe came from a deep, blind sense of responsibility for all the people here in the bunker.

“She’s not going to remember you,” the blonde said gently, and Bellamy’s fists clenched at his sides because he had been wrong, hearing it out loud didn’t make it hurt any less. “At least, not in the fullest sense like you remember her. Mr. Blake, our rehabilitation program works if you let it work, and I’m worried that if Octavia is told of your past and your relationship, it’ll be bad for her health as we work the serum completely out of her system. Strong or not, she’s emotionally volatile, which is what’s the most surprising about her surviving a full year. We’ve already had three close calls with her within seventy-two hours, and I’m not letting someone die because their brother was too selfish to understand the risk.”

“I’d never do anything to endanger Octavia,” Bellamy gritted out through his teeth; pretty as she was and smart as she may be, Bellamy was wondering how frequently he would consider punching Clarke Griffin in the face during his time here. He was already at three or four, and they’ve only been talking for a few hours.

Clarke seemed to register his tone and answered it with a calm smile, beginning to drag her hand up and down his bicep in that soothing way that only mothers and doctors knew how as she nodded. “You’re right,” she said, “You’d do anything to protect her, and that’s why I need you to lead this division. You want a reason to agree to this ‘suicide mission’ of ours?” Clarke nodded over his shoulder, jutting her chin towards his sister before laying her gaze against his own, ocean blue and earthy brown colliding, “Do it for her. She’s not your sister anymore, Bellamy, and she’s a shell of the person you raised. But she needs someone who believes her life matters, and she needs direction. If you’re not going to do this for anyone else, than I’m asking you to do it for her.”

Clarke’s hand dropped from his shoulder, moving instead to tuck her arms across her chest. With a step back, she nodded at Bellamy and just like that, she had her big bad doctor voice again, “I’ll give you some time to think about my offer. Lunch is in three hours, on level fourteen. You don’t need a badge to access any of level one, so just find Mr. Green or someone else to help you with access restrictions. You have until the end of the day to give me your answer.”

With that, Clarke turned on her heel and was making her way out the door, calling over her shoulder, “May we meet again, Mr. Blake.”

Bellamy snorted at her retreating form and turned to look at his sister with a heavy heart, wanting to say his goodbye before he began to wander, but as his gaze fell on her, he felt something inside himself break.

Her head had lulled back enough that her hair had fallen out of her face, and from where he was standing, Bellamy could see the dark black of dead skin circling the eyes and trickling down the cheeks of his beautiful sister, who looked so much like their mother. Now, she was scarred like a raccoon. Like a monster. 

Right then and there, his decision had been made. 


	5. roam the room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set ten years after the fall of SHIELD, Bellamy Blake is recruited by a secret, underground agency to destroy the organization that turned his baby sister into a monster. Or the Agents of SHIELD canon divergence AU that none of us realized we wanted or needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically all just a Monty/Bellamy interaction as I continue to flex my writing muscles. I'm probably going to have another chapter or two posted tonight (again) cause I want to finish the individual division tours, lunch, and Bellamy's meeting with Clarke before the weekend starts so I can start writing the team's first mission!!! If you'd like to know, I'm going to model their missions loosely off s1 of Agents of Shield, with obvious variations because they have two very different agendas. Comments are, of course, always welcome, and any ideas or feedback would be useful and appreciated!!!! ENJOY!

Even though Bellamy knew what his choice would be, it didn’t mean he couldn’t snoop around level one without Clarke as his chaperone, and if he had until the end of the day to give her his answer than he might as well wait until the last minute. Pressing his hand against the glass separating him from his baby sister, Bellamy copied the doctor and murmured “may we meet again” before slipping out of the room and down the hall, noting that Lincoln and Lexa were nowhere to be seen once again.

His first stop was to inspect his new place of employment, particularly the training facility – medical bay hybrid that he would be presiding over. All the equipment was high quality and still in good shape, which meant Clarke hadn’t been kidding when she had said they were well funded. He was glad the government’s money went somewhere useful – as a soldier, he hadn’t been paid dick shit regardless of his title or merits, and the benefits were even worse. Not to mention the actual tours themselves, where money only seemed to go to weapons and transportation. As Bellamy tested the springing in the navy mats, jumping up and down on various patches, he wondered if he got dental at this place or if dead people weren’t awarded such a luxury.

The medical bay was well stocked but only with emergency medical equipment, strong sedatives, and a bunch of vials labeled “ICER,” so Bellamy concluded that it was only located here in case one of their “special agents” decided to get fiery and they had to act fast. Logical, something Bellamy was learning was Clarke’s strongest trait aside from her overwhelming but hidden compassion.

He shook thoughts of the blonde out of his head as he approached the automatic sliding glass door that would allow him into the next room – the technical division. Upon entering, Bellamy saw Monty’s head jerk up at the noise before a wide grin spread over the boy’s face and he got up, approaching Bellamy with his hand out. The soldier took it and shook with a confused look as Monty shrugged and offered cheekily, “Welcome to the team, man. It’ll be awesome to have someone like you on board.”

Bellamy tried not to let the surprise show on his face, but before he could ask how Monty knew, the kid cut him off with a wave of his hand, “Dude, everyone accepts Clarke’s job offers. This place is awesome, you don’t have to pay taxes on your paychecks, and she offers revenge on the people who hurt the ones you love. It’s sort of a no brainer.

“You wanna tour?” Monty asked suddenly, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate he was talking about his division, and Bellamy chuckled his affirmation. “So, she was serious about all that? That everyone here…”

“Has lost someone to the Mountain Men, yeah,” Monty nodded, beginning to walk backward towards the large set of monitors and boards Bellamy had seen him seated at earlier so that he could remain facing the older male, “I mean, some people here didn’t lose another person per say, but lost themselves. We’re all bonded by a hatred for the enemy, and this sector of the ARK is more of a family than a multi-leveled agency, but it’s just because we’re so small.

“This is Rachel, by the way,” Monty smirked with a gesture to his work station, and Bellamy couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped his lips, “She helps me work my magic. Hacking, coding, tracking, you name it, it wouldn’t get done if it wasn’t for this rig. Y’know what they say, a carpenter is only as good as his tools, eh?”

“I’m sure natural talent helps,” Bellamy offered with a good natured smirk, and Monty accepted it with one of his own before moving down the row, pointing at various heads tucked behind their own monitors, “Drew, Diggs, Dax, and Derek, also known as the Militia because without them under my command, this place would get shot to shit.”

Bellamy decided he really, really enjoyed Monty.

“You only got four people working for you?” he asked with a quirked brow, though his division was no better with two special agents and a new rookie in recovery, so there was no judgement in his voice.

Monty nodded and shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest leisurely, “It was worse when there was just me – I was one of the first recruits for this base. But five is enough when we only have one tactical team going on a mission at a time, and besides, we don’t really have the numbers to put more people in my division. Clarke tries to put recruits in the division that best suits their talents, but sometimes she’s forced to put people in places just to make numbers fair.”

They were striding at a slow pace along the perimeter of the room, which happened to be fairly large, though why Bellamy was just noting that was beyond him – he could only imagine what the garage would be like now that he was on the level itself.

“So how many people are here, exactly?” he asked out of curiosity, and Monty answering sigh didn’t give him much faith.

“We started with a hundred,” the kid stated with an awkward rub to the back of his neck, “But with resources spread so thin and Clarke trying to micromanage every division including two of her own, plus the Mountain Men being a new threat with little intelligence, we were down to forty-four within the first couple of months. Numbers are up, which is the good news, so now that you’re here I think we have… Eighty-two? Clarke would know for sure.”

Bellamy nodded slowly, processing that information, because that was a relatively small number for a bunker of this size. They were rounding the corner of the room and beginning to make their way towards the next automatic sliding door, and Bellamy knew this would be the end of their tour since he had distracted Monty from his work for long enough.

“Two questions before I let you get back to Rachel,” the older male drawled out, smiling at the chuckle he heard Monty let out under his breath, “First, can I get lunch with you later? You’re the only person I know for a fact that I like here, so I figured I’d go with my safest bet when it came to cafeteria seating.”

At that, Monty full out laughed, earning the attention of two of his militia boys who sent them glowers over their shoulders, which Monty waved off before nodding animatedly, “Yeah, dude, of course, just come here a couple minutes before lunch and I’ll go up with you. I promise I won’t make you sit with anyone that might piss you off before you get to dessert. Get hyped, today is pudding day.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes fondly (although if he was being honest, when was the last time he had pudding?) and snorted at Monty, who rounded in front of him as the glass door slid open, cocking his head in a movement reminiscent to a puppy dog, “What was your second question?”

Bellamy bit his lip for a moment before shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, shifting his weight from one leg to the other awkwardly before saying in that surly tone of his whenever he was even the slightest bit uncomfortable, “Clarke, Dr. Griffin, whatever her name is… I know I asked you this already, but seriously, what’s her fucking deal?”

This time, Monty’s answering laugh was loud enough that it got a “Shh!” sent his way from the back row, but the kid wasn’t fazed as he clapped Bellamy on the shoulder and shook his head as the sound in his throat died down to a chuckle. “Don’t worry, man,” he said, already beginning to back away from the soldier with a shit eating grin on his face, like he knew something Bellamy didn’t, “You two will get along just fine.”

With that, Monty turned and made his way back to his station, whistling to himself as he began tapping away at his monitors, and Bellamy sighed at the second not-answer to his question before stepping through the doors and entering the weapons division. 


	6. too involved to call it off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set ten years after the fall of SHIELD, Bellamy Blake is recruited by a secret, underground agency to destroy the organization that turned his baby sister into a monster. Or the Agents of SHIELD canon divergence AU that none of us realized we wanted or needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaaaaaaay more characters!!!! It's already 10 pm but I'm sure I'll try to hammer out another chapter tonight cause I'm having so much fun writing this AU. The next chapter will probably be pretty short - I don't think I'll write anything for the lunch and just skip right to Bellamy/Clarke's interaction, which means I should start writing the first mission very very soon, as in tomorrow or late tonight! As always, feedback is so greatly appreciated - if you enjoy any parts of this story in particular, or would like to see something canon from either verse, just say so in the comments! I'm super open to ideas cause I'm a little worried about getting writer's block (tho the adderall is helping lmao) but yeah!!

Bellamy found out rather quickly that Nathan Miller was a man of few words.

After a grunted introduction, the other male had quickly dismissed himself from the conversation to aid one of his workers, a girl with a lip piercing he had called Monroe, on whatever project she was working on (it looked like a cannon of a gun, but Bellamy heard him saying stuff about “cooling mechanism” and “filtration” so he wasn’t quite sure what the true nature of the weapon was supposed to be). But, as soon as the male had left his side, a lanky stick of a teen with goggles hanging around his neck had bounced up to Bellamy, introducing himself with an enthusiastic shake of his hand.

“You must be Bellamy!” the brunette had grinned, and Bellamy was flattered for a moment that his name had spread so quickly among the few workers that were here, before the kid had corrected himself, “Sorry, my bad, I’m Jasper. Monty filled me in as soon as he had handed you off to Clarke.”

“Ah,” was Bellamy’s only answer before this Jasper fellow began tugging at his forearm, jerking his head towards the back of the room. “C’mon, I’ll give you the four-one-one on this place, since Miller is too much of a grouch to waste any of his precious time on a newbie.”

At the mention of his name, the division leader sent a scold Jasper’s way, which the younger male shook off with a chuckle before leading Bellamy towards his station, where he seemed to be working with a dangerous amount of gun powder.

“So you work in weapons?” the soldier asked, at an attempt to make small talk, which Jasper responded to with an energetic nod as he collapsed into his chair, slinging his feet up onto his desk and tucking his hands behind his head. Bellamy chose to simply lean against the edge of his station, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I work in every division, you could say I have a specialty with a lot of different things,” Jasper smirked, nodding towards the cans sitting on his desk, “I’m currently working on a type of ammunition that could sedate a Reaper without killing them or pissing them off, that would also act as a catalyst to introduce the cooling agent into their blood stream so that the med bay doesn’t have to rush to make sure the meat suits don’t explode before they get here.”

“Sounds tricky,” Bellamy frowned, both at his slang words and the task at hand, looking down at the kid’s progress, noticing a few of the ICER vials he had seen before in the medical bay attached to his training facility, “How’s it coming along?”

“The cooling agent makes the gun powder ineffective, so I’ve been testing out different ingredients for both to see if maybe there’s something specific that renders them obsolete, but so far nothing,” Jasper shrugged, as if it was no big deal that his project’s progress was less than satisfactory, and Bellamy saw out of the corner of his eye that Miller shot another scold Jasper’s way at their conversation.

“What I’m more interested in is _you_ ,” the kid grinned, raising an eyebrow at Bellamy, “Rumor has it you’re the Warriors’ new babysitter. How’d Clarke convince you to do that?”

Hearing the echo of Clarke’s words in his ear ( _she’s not going to remember you_ ), Bellamy simply shrugged, offering Jasper a lazy grin as he said, “Well, y’know how it is, not a lot of places are looking to hire dead people. Plus, a little birdy told me it was pudding day, so who was I to decline?”

Jasper seemed to like that answer from his laugh in response, nodding as he sat up straight and kicked his legs back down, heaving himself out of his chair and gesturing for Bellamy to follow, “C’mon, rookie, I’ll show you the garage, Lord knows Raven and Wick would bite your head off if you distracted them from their work without a proper introduction.”

Miller looked equally ready to bite Jasper’s head off for abandoning his station, but it wasn’t Bellamy’s place to give any orders, and the dark skinned male didn’t say anything in protest as Jasper led Bellamy towards the back doors.

“So how long have you and Monty been here, exactly? You don’t look very…” Bellamy didn’t quite know how to finish his sentence, not wanting to imply that the boys looked like children, but Jasper waved off his question as they walked through the last set of sliding glass doors, entering the garage.

“Monty and I were recruited together, actually, fresh out of UCLA,” the kid nodded, shoving his hands in his jean pockets, the goggles on his neck matching the ones Bellamy could see other mechanics wearing as they busied themselves with the vehicles around them, “We were a few of the first to get a spot in the agency in fact.”

“So how’d you die?” Bellamy asked, half joking, but curious nonetheless.

He was glad Jasper laughed, because the soldier had a feeling not everyone would be as open to answering such a personal question. Even he was struggling with how he would explain his own experience. Another pang of guilt echoed in his chest at the three hundred lives that had been lost at his hand….

“Monty and I finished top of our class at sixteen, we were champion wonder boys,” Jasper explained, maneuvering through different projects in the garage with an ease that only someone who had been here for a while would have, “Mostly because we copied off each other, and whatever one of us didn’t know how to do, the other did, but that’s all semantics. The military had wanted us since we were kids, though, when we hacked through the NSA’s firewall at thirteen. Not an easy task, mind you, but they had kept an eye on us, and when we finished college in our teens it was pretty much a no brainer when they wanted to recruit us for their big bad military schemes.

“We mostly worked on projects involving the Chinese, so we were stationed in Hong Kong for a little while, which Monty’s parents were pissed about since he’s Korean, but we made due for the first six months. It was by a stroke of luck that we were off base for a not particularly legal bar crawl when HYDRA agents attacked. They burned the base to the ground, and we were amongst the proclaimed dead,” the boy explained nonchalantly, even though concern knitted Bellamy’s brow for a dozen different reasons, and when Jasper glanced over at Bellamy he started to laugh at the expression on the other’s face.

“Seriously, man, it’s been three years, we’re pretty over the ordeal,” he shrugged, nodding a hello to some random that scurried by, “I mean, I am more than Monty, because his family took it pretty hard when he was proclaimed dead, whereas my dad went on his drunk merry way towards his own grave, but we found a new family here. You’d be amazed at how well a bunch of dead kids get along when locked in a concrete bunker underground for an indisputable amount of time.”

Bellamy was starting to feel dizzy from how fast this guy talked.

“So how old are you, exactly?” Bellamy asked out of curiosity, to which Jasper replied, “Nineteen, Monty will be twenty in June, and I’m in December. Ah, here they are.

“Wick! Raven!” Jasper called out suddenly, and Bellamy followed his gaze to see a blonde haired boy glance up from whatever contraption was in his hands at the call of his name, and as they got closer Bellamy also identified a pair of legs sticking out from under a Durango that had the doors ripped off it entirely.

“What’s up, kiddo?” the aforementioned Wick smirked, and Jasper clapped him on the shoulder before making a grand gesture with his arm towards Bellamy, who in turn reached out his hand. Wick shook it firmly, which Bellamy noted with an approving grin.

“Meet our new rookie, he’s going to be babysitting the meat suits,” Jasper proclaimed proudly, and Bellamy heard a dramatic sigh come out from under the car at the slang name (he was glad he wasn’t the only one who was just a tiny bit annoyed by the slur).

“Don’t call them that, Jasper,” came a female voice as her body rolled out from under the car, to reveal a pretty Hispanic girl with her hair pulled back out of her face, dark eyes glaring daggers at the younger teen, who raised his hands in a silent apology.

“Sorry, Reyes, I forget, it was so long ago,” was his response, and Bellamy wished he didn’t let his emotions play out so obviously on his face sometimes, because the confusion in his eyes seemed to be noticed by both Wick and Jasper, though neither of them said anything, even if Jasper looked constipated from his effort to keep from blurting out whatever fact came along with his response. Bellamy had a feeling he’d know soon enough.

Wick, in turn, stepped around Jasper to offer his hand to Raven, who grabbed it as he helped her up, and it was only then that Bellamy noticed the high-tech, metal brace that seemed to mold itself to Raven’s right leg, which he raised an eyebrow at silently but didn’t feel the need to address any further.

Even if everyone else did… at the same time.

“Shark attack,” Wick said with a playful waggle of his eyebrows and a smirk on his lips.

“Car fell on it,” Jasper said with a shrug of his shoulders, as if it happened all the time.

“The Mountain Men,” Raven answered in a dead pan tone, before glancing at the other two incredulously. Wick got a sharp punch in the arm as she sent a scathing look Jasper’s way, and teen jumped out of reach just in time when Raven swung to hit him too.

“You’ll hear the whole story the next time Clarke lets us have moonshine night, for sure,” Jasper laughed, delighted by his reflexes as Raven took his slight distraction as an opportunity to give him a dead leg, which sent his own thigh wobbling as he proclaimed “Ow!” before she turned to send a saccharine sweet, obviously fake smile Bellamy’s way, looking him up and down before smirking, “Yeah, if he lasts that long.”

He knew it was nothing to take offense to, just the usual jabs at a rookie that he would’ve done all the same to any newbies in his quadrant back in the Marines, but for some reason Bellamy felt his chest puff up inexplicably at the question of his durability, eyes narrowing as he replied, “Careful, Reyes, wouldn’t want you to lose your other leg.”

His threat sent a laugh around the group, including Raven, who nodded to no one in particular as she grabbed a black cylinder off the metal table in front of the Durango and slowly sank back down on her creeper, grabbing a discarded welding helmet and slipping the strap over her forehead, “You’ll fit right on in here, Bellamy, that’s for sure.” And with that, she vanished under the car, the sound of a torch lighting soon following as she set to work again on the vehicle.

“If you ever want to try your hand at the garage, just come and holler for me or the wrench monkey,” Wick smirked, glancing down fondly at Raven’s legs before looking up at Bellamy, “We could always use an extra set of hands around here, plus two people in your division means a lack of agenda most days.”

“We’ll see,” Bellamy responded with a good nature smile, and with another shake of his hand, Jasper began to lead Bellamy away, throwing his arm over the soldier’s shoulders lazily as he offered him a grin.

“What?” Bellamy asked, frowning, as he narrowed his eyes at the look on Jasper’s face.

“Oh, nothing,” the younger boy faux sighed, leaning into him as he lead Bellamy back towards the weapons division, “Just happy to see you finding your place.”

Bellamy couldn’t disagree with that. Even if he was apprehensive at first, he was beginning to see why everyone here fit so nicely together and called it their home. Maybe it was his concussion talking, but he was suddenly excited to become a part of something reminiscent to a family again.

Suddenly, Bellamy felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and he glanced around himself for a moment before looking up at the level two hallway. He didn’t know why he expected to see a crown of straw gold hair in the window, but when he didn’t, he simply shook his head and turned his attention back to Jasper, who was detailing what the different levels were utilized for and what was for lunch that day.

Clarke smiled from where she stood, tucked to the side of the window closest to her office entry, her arms crossed over her chest. She had taken a leap of faith on Mr. Blake, and she was glad to see he showed interest in the position she offered him, and had taken so quickly to the others here on the base. She turned on her heel and walked back into the war room to submit his file to the Council and Chancellor for approval, although she didn’t care if they agreed with her choice either way. Bellamy was already a part of her team, as far as she was concerned.


	7. the world calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set ten years after the fall of SHIELD, Bellamy Blake is recruited by a secret, underground agency to destroy the organization that turned his baby sister into a monster. Or the Agents of SHIELD canon divergence AU that none of us realized we wanted or needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So..... I'm starting to realize because of how I'm breaking this up.... that this is going to be like.... a forty chapter fic..... Which I'm completely fine with, it's all ya'll that are wasting your time reading it :) But yeah here's a bit more background into a few of the major characters we're going to see more regularly through the chapters, which I'll obviously revisit in later ones so that more dialogue can be used to describe their situations. Especially Monty/Raven, who have more personal vignettes to tell. BUT until then here's the lead up chapter for the first mission! Which will almost definitely be posted tonight or tomorrow, I hope. Until then - feedback and comments are greatly adored, I love hearing your ideas and what you do/don't like, plus any requests for head canons you'd like to see me incorporate! Other than that, ENJOY!

When lunch finally rolls around, Monty has him sit in between himself and Jasper, and on the other side are Raven, Wick, and Miller; it’s here, wedged in between the two teens, that Bellamy receives the short version of everyone at their table’s origin stories.

(He sees Lincoln and Lexa sitting by themselves, closest to the door, eating their food in silence. Octavia is nowhere to be seen.)

Miller, who was from Australia although the accent never stuck, had gone into the family business as a mercenary, following in his father’s footsteps. He was an experienced marksmen, having learned to shoot a sniper rifle at age nine, and only improved as his father (whom he only called by his first name, and Bellamy noted the daddy issue accordingly) groomed him for his inevitable future. He had been in Egypt during a job to sell an artifact that a few ex-heads of HYDRA had showed interest in – only instead of buying it, they killed two of his business partners and took him hostage. ARK had apparently been right on their tail, however, having caught a whiff of a 0-8-4 (“An object of unknown origin,” Monty had supplemented quietly under his breath, which Bellamy was grateful for) being distributed to the enemy through their various back channels, and had come to his rescue in the nick of time. After that, they gave him an option – continue being a criminal, or make a better life for himself. Miller seemed smug when he declared he had picked the big “fuck you” to his father.

Wick, who’s actual name was Kyle (Bellamy liked Wick better), had been in SHIELD since the day he turned eighteen and began studying at their science academy, although he sent a smarmy grin Bellamy’s way as he explained that he was kicked out after three months for being a distraction to his peers – which was the academy’s nice way of describing how he built and set off a weather converter that turned the grounds into a snow ridden tundra for three weeks in the middle of November, which wouldn’t have been too surprising if the academy hadn’t been located in the middle of Arizona. After that, he was employed by the Rising Tide, which by then had become a large group of hackers, scientists, and benefactors trying to make a difference in the world for all the wrong reasons, who all too willingly erased his identity from existence for the sake of his safety. Clarke and he had a mutual friend, and when the ARK needed new recruits, he gladly left the Rising Tide to be in the company with other “like minded individuals” instead.

Raven’s origin, however, was the most surprising of them all. She had told her story stoically, in a flat tone, a dangerous darkness in her eyes as she poked at her green beans and avoided direct eye contact with everyone at the table aside from the occasional glance at Bellamy. She had been a mechanic and engineering technician for the Army, and was on her second tour in Iraq when a group of Reapers attacked the base she was stationed on that was secretly sheltering powered people in the region. Raven had snuck into the boiler room where the generator was located almost immediately after the attack had begun, in an attempt to shut down the locking mechanisms to both keep Reaper reinforcements out and to allow her men the chance to pick off the ones locked inside, one by one. Her detonation, however, went off too soon from the volatility of the materials she used, and instead of saving anyone, she brought an entire level of cement down on both soldiers and Reapers battling underneath it. The next thing she knew, she woke up in the Mount Weather facility, with a dead leg and an agonizing fire in her veins.

Her story was cut short there, however, because a single, blaring horn rang out through the mess hall just once, yellow lights flashing all around the perimeter. No one moved to get up except for Bellamy, who jolted out of his seat reflexively, which seemed to send a good laugh around the table as the rest got up at a much more languid pace. “Stand down, soldier,” Wick snickered as he clapped him on the shoulder, leading their pack towards the elevator doors, and Bellamy looked around to Monty in confusion, knowing he probably looked like a lost puppy.

“That’s Clarke’s extremely discreet way of calling all level one division leaders to the war room,” the kid chuckled, jerking his head at the retreating backs of their peers, and Bellamy noted that no one else in the mess hall got up nor seemed the least bit phased from the sudden noise. He scrunched his nose up bitterly before moving to follow the group, since he fell under the category of division leader now, even if he hadn’t told Clarke yet. His answer would probably be loud and clear if he was going to show up to the war room, though.

They piled into the elevator together, shoulder to shoulder, and Bellamy frowned at the doors, seeing his expression mirrored back at him. “Why does she need us in the war room, exactly?” he asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

“The Council just issued a mission, so we’re going in for debriefing,” Jasper was the first one to answer, sounding excited in the back of the tiny compartment.

“And why are you coming, exactly?” Bellamy asked, not meaning to sound harsh, but by the way Raven elbowed him in the ribs, he realized he might’ve sounded a bit pretentious considering it was his first day and he still didn’t really know the ropes around the bunker yet.

“Jasper’s actually head of the communications division, which is probably because he never shuts up,” Miller grunted from the back corner, slouched against the wall as they descended to level two.

“I never lead with that, though. I don’t want people thinking I have responsibilities here or anything,” the gangly teen finally speaks up with a devious smile, which Bellamy can see reflected in the door in front of them all, “Don’t worry, Bell, no offense has been taken. I’ll make it up to you by being in your ear for the _entirety_ of the mission you get sent on.”

Bellamy’s groan is drowned out by the sound of the elevator doors opening.


	8. drawn out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set ten years after the fall of SHIELD, Bellamy Blake is recruited by a secret, underground agency to destroy the organization that turned his baby sister into a monster. Or the Agents of SHIELD canon divergence AU that none of us realized we wanted or needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT TRYING TO DRAW OUT THE FIRST MISSION I'M JUST TAKING FOREVER TO WRITE THIS VERSE IN AS MUCH DETAIL AS POSSIBLE I'M S O R R Y
> 
> (this is what I get for being a perfectionist sigh)
> 
> SO here we are, the lead up to the first mission cause I suck and take forever. I promise I won't demonize Abby I love her so much she's just a necessary evil for now until I get to more of Clarke's development later on ;A; But I'm so excited, I think ya'll will really like the stuff I have planned for Finn and Wells and Maya and I can't WAIT to write Murphy my trash king so as long as my schedule stays as open as it has been the last couple of days I should be churning out chapters like a boss :D
> 
> Y'know how it goes - comments, head canons, feedback, & criticism are all welcomed <3

When they file into the war room, they’re greeted by the sight of Clarke leaning against the edge of her desk, the screen to everyone’s left divided into five parts so five gigantic faces could stare down at them, which Bellamy found to be a little unnerving.

There was a middle aged man with chocolate brown hair and a sharp, defined nose. There was a brunette middle aged woman with worry wrinkles lining her forehead, her eyes black and her lips drawn into a tight line. In the middle was a dark skinned man with salt and pepper smattering his hair line and well-groomed beard, his brow knit together with what seemed to be worry. There was a pale woman with a square jaw and blonde hair tied away from her face in a tight bun that sat just the side of her neck, making it visible. Lastly, there was another African American man, sporting tired eyes and a buzz cut, blinking once every few seconds as it looked like he fought to stay awake.

“Good afternoon, agents,” the dark skinned man with the grey hair smiled solemnly, “Sorry to interrupt your lunch, but duty calls.” Bellamy heard Monty and Jasper respond with “Good afternoon Chancellor” in the same tone that Bellamy remembered dully regurgitating the Pledge of Allegiance in during grade school. He was standing a little off to the right from everybody else and, incidentally, closer to Clarke, and he shot her a quick look when he noticed that no one else in the room had addressed the Chancellor (wasn’t he like, the dude in charge? Weren’t they all supposed to kiss his ass?)

Before anything is said by the man, however, the woman with the seemingly perpetual frown of her face to his left speaks up, her tone accusatory, “Excuse me, but who is this? Clarke? He doesn’t have the clearance to be in this room.”

“Actually he does,” Clarke replies calmly as she straightens up, arms crossed over her chest as she unconsciously steps in front of Bellamy, and the soldier observed her protective body language with a small smirk that he ducked his head to hide. “Mr. Blake is the newest member of our team, he’ll be leading the Warrior division,” the blonde added with a smile that practically drips with the venom she managed to keep out of her tone, but the woman on the screen doesn’t back down.

“Has he been trained? Has he been briefed on protocol? Have you even bothered to cross reference any possible ulterior motives, hooked him up to be tested? Clarke, you know better than to take in every lost puppy you find, are you even listening to me? Do you remember what happened last time?” the lady lamented with a hard, motherly scold, and Bellamy frowned as he wondered if all of the Council talked to Clarke like she’s a child caught playing with knives.

“Last time I checked, Mom, the dead are gone and the living are hungry,” Clarke replied in a positively seething tone, and her response made absolutely no sense to Bellamy, mostly from the use of a familial title and the context of the sentence overwhelmingly floored him for a moment before he got his bearings together.

“Time is of the essence and I don’t believe personnel assignments are on the agenda, Abby,” the dark haired man on the far left frowned, and Clarke shot the tiniest of nods in his direction in appreciation.

“I agree,” the Chancellor boomed, and with that, he launched into his debrief with a business like tone, “About five hours ago, Exodus received a transmission from our base in Peru with a distress signal. They had been attacked by Reapers, and whoever wasn’t killed was taken to a location near the region’s ancient ruins. We believe the Mountain Men have created a secret bunker underneath the ruins since local authorities keep the area well protected from any type of outside threats, providing them with free security.

“The distress signal detailed that an oh-eight-four that had recently been discovered by our Peruvian team was the initial target, but Reapers dragged out several of the base’s science division’s agents alive. We believe the Mountain Men don’t have enough intel on the object themselves, and are possibly torturing our people to gain a better understanding,” the Chancellor continued, and as he spoke a bright blue light lit up the table in the middle of the room. Bellamy winced at the suddenness before blinking and realizing it was a hologram of the 0-8-4 in question, which looked to be a big Nerf gun with a square thing in the middle. If he hadn’t been so distracted by the light, he would’ve noticed how everyone in the room stiffened indiscreetly at the mention of hostage agents.

“Do we know who was taken, sir?” Clarke was the first to ask, and in his peripheral, Bellamy could see Raven nervously wringing her hands, and Monty’s hand unconsciously raising to grip Jasper’s shoulder.

“Agents Jaha, Collins, Vie, and Murphy are the only ones we’ve been able to confirm so far aren’t among the dead,” the dark haired man had spoken up quickly as the Chancellor turned hard eyes onto Clarke, like he was suddenly speaking only to her via telepathic communication.

“You get our people back, you hear me?” he said in a dangerously low tone a moment later, and Clarke nodded her acceptance at their mission, before reaching over to her desk and pushing a button that turned off the screen, turning to talk to her agents.

“First and foremost, this is a rescue mission,” the Director began as she stepped towards the table, her eyes on the hologram turning slowly in front of all of them, “The oh-eight-four comes second. If you can’t acquire it, then destroy it – we don’t want the Mountain Men having that kind of technology.”

“It’s definitely alien,” Raven piped up, pointing towards the square box in the middle, “These are only initial scans from the base, but if they’re correct than that’s Tesseract technology, and with it, they’ll be blowing down our front door before we even get back from Peru.”

Clarke nodded before turning her gaze onto her agents, holding Bellamy’s stare for just a moment longer (he observed her eyes had turned an almost ethereal shade of cerulean blue from the hologram light) as she barked out orders in her clinical tone, “Blake will be running point, with Agents Lincoln and Lexa on tactical rescue and defensive operations. Miller, you’re in charge of neutralizing the weapon, however you deem fit. Reyes, you’ll be piloting while Wick stays back and focuses on intel. Jasper, you’ll be in charge of communications, and Monty, you’ll have to go along to break our team into the base without alerting the local authorities or the Mountain Men.

“Secrecy is our advantage, people, don’t forget that; we excel with the element of surprise on our side. Stick to neutralizing threats humanely, and make sure our people are safe. Ice any Reapers who provide a threat and bring them back if you can, otherwise don’t kill unless you’ll be killed. Any questions?”

Suddenly, everyone was speaking at once and Bellamy’s head was ringing from the noise.

“Why is Blake running point? He’s never done this before!” came Raven’s voice.

“The wrench monkey can’t pilot, Clarke, she isn’t even cleared for the field! Why isn’t she doing intel?” Wick was asking over her, and once Raven realized what his concern was, she immediately punched the blonde man in the arm (hard). “Ow! Not that you can’t, that you shouldn’t!” came Wick’s apology, and the two continued to bicker between themselves.

“Clarke, if Maya is with those lunatics, I need to be out there, please, I can help Monty,” Jasper was pleading, though the other boy stayed silent as he merely raised his eyebrows at Clarke.

“Is anyone else not even mildly concerned that the homicidal wrath zombies are being sent with us without Clarke’s supervision?” was Miller’s dead pan question from next to the doorway where he leaned.

“Enough!” she hollered over everyone, who fell to silence immediately, and Clarke reached a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose for a few beats before dropping it back down and sending a look around the table that could level a small city.

“Mr. Blake has run point on several incredibly successful black op missions throughout his military career. You’ll find he’s a specialist just like any of you, and he’ll adapt quickly to what we’re trying to accomplish. Mr. Jordan – you’ll be staying here specifically because Maya may be in danger and I won’t allow you to risk the well-being of our team over the possibility of one agent’s life. Mr. Wick – Miss Reyes is completely equipped to handle this situation, has done so already several times, and although your concern is noted, you have allowed it to cloud your perception of the fact that Miss Reyes _is_ cleared for field work, _specifically_ piloting. And Mr. Miller – please don’t call them that, and I think you’ll all find that Mr. Blake will lead them accordingly, and even if he can’t, those two have more self-restraint and emotional stability than this entire room combined, evidently.”

No one was stupid enough to argue any of her points, least of which being Bellamy. They’re dismissed from the room with a parting “may we meet again” from the Director, and Bellamy’s ever present self-doubt and anxiety are nowhere to be found as he descended to level one, towards his training facility. He was lost in the white noise of his head as he suited up into tactical gear, and is met with equal silence when Lincoln and Lexa stepped up next to him and began to mimic his motions. It isn’t uncomfortable in the slightest, and Bellamy felt bad for breaking it when he shot his new teammates a sideways, calculating look before gruffly introducing himself under his breath, “The name’s Blake. Bellamy Blake. Clarke’s put me in charge of...”

“Just stay out of our way,” Lexa cut him off with a dismissive edge to her words, sheathing two long, machete-like swords crisscross over her back before she began to smear a black paste around her eyes. Flicking the remnants off her fingers and onto the floor, the agent turned on her heel and walked away towards the medical bay.

It’s silent for another moment before Lincoln shifts awkwardly from foot to foot and offers Bellamy a little half shrug without meeting his gaze, his own on a foot long black box in his hand with a green button. He pushed it, and Bellamy watched as the tiny rectangle unfolded itself to magically become a simple but powerful looking cross bow. “She’s a natural born leader,” the man murmured as he poked at various parts of his weapon of choice, “She doesn’t do well with authority. Don’t take it personally.” With that, Lincoln pushed the green button on his bow again, and it folded itself back up neatly, compact and ready to go. The man allowed the light weight quiver to fall off his shoulder as he began to load it with the arrows stocked in front of him, and that was the end of their conversation.

Bellamy’s weapon of choice was, and always would be, a handgun. Although in this case, he had about four hand guns tucked away conveniently, and Lincoln handed him two boxes worth of ammunition to load with; they were electric blue bullets, “ICER” engraved along the sides, and Bellamy chuckled to himself when he realized that the seemingly hard project Jasper had been working on only a few hours earlier must’ve not been so difficult after all.

They’re loaded up onto a Quinjet within the hour with Raven at the helm, and after they’re in the air and shooting off in the direction of South America, Monty unbuckled himself and began to hand out ear pieces to everyone. He sat back down and with a few clicks on his laptop, Bellamy’s right ear comes alive with the sounds of Wick, Clarke, and Jasper back at the base. They’re due to touch down in three hours, and considering that, Bellamy closed his eyes and focused less on the noise in his ear, instead shifting his attention to the low conversation Monty and Miller were having next to him as a distraction. He had so many questions he wanted to ask (the most unavoidable of them being - how many of them were going to make it back alive?), but the familiarity of running point on a black operation with some secret agency assuaged most of his lingering concerns temporarily.

Let’s face it, at the end of the day, this was something Bellamy was actually good at, and he was determined not to let anyone down. Especially Clarke.


	9. high regard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set ten years after the fall of SHIELD, Bellamy Blake is recruited by a secret, underground agency to destroy the organization that turned his baby sister into a monster. Or the Agents of SHIELD canon divergence AU that none of us realized we wanted or needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
> 
> okay i have a million excuses first my laptop is suuuuuuuch shittttttttt so like using it nowadays has been such a hassle that it's not even worth my time plus i've been working and being social and have had such bad writer's block like terrible terrible
> 
> anywayz this chapter is from Clarke's POV cause i needed to spice things up a bit for myself and i ended up liking it a whole lot so i'm gonna do it every once in awhile i think idk 
> 
> as usual lemme know what you think in the comments and stuff!!! love feedback and general ideas for stuff

Clarke stood peering up at the large monitor in her office. It displayed several videos and audio traces on the team, controlled by Jasper, who was perched next to Clarke on the motherboard. He was opting to control the display with a nearly transparent tablet, courtesy of ARK labs even though the device was more or less his and Monty’s brainchild. Wick stood to her left, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the operation apprehensively from slightly behind Clarke’s flank. They had all been on wire for three hours now, and had suffered through three of Miller’s obscurely vague mercenary stories, a terrible joke from Bellamy, and a biting comment from Lexa that had left the plane silent for the rest of the ride until the Raven began to guide the Quinjet to the ground. The room back at base was gravely silent as the three merely observed the mission as it moved forward, burdened with the anxiety of only being able to watch as the team began to exit the plane.

Every mission mattered to Clarke in one way or another – she had been a part of the agency since its very birth, and had become privileged enough to have met almost all of its operatives with the boost of her mother’s prestige equipped with the help of her own hidden charm. Usually, she personally knew the members of a hostage situation, or had at the very least heard of the people she was tasked with helping. That being said, this mission held an almost nauseating amount of baggage along with it, and aside from Mr. Blake, every person on this mission had a personal tie to it.

The director felt as though she was suffocating on the too cold air of the concrete surrounding her, but she kept her poker face stony nonetheless, her anxiety remaining otherwise by the other two men in the room. Clarke knew they were distracted as well. Jasper and Agent Vie had been a thing back before the medical bay operator was stationed in Peru with Agents Collins and Jaha in tow for a special missions assigned by the Chancellor himself. The only goodbye the boy had ever gotten from Maya ended up come from Clarke, who had coolly informed him her location was “classified” (it was Monty who broke the news to him an hour later).

Wick was nervous about Raven, and Clarke understood that well enough – in fact, she couldn’t deny that she was too. Raven was his partner since they had both taken up residence in the base. But the girl shot to kill and Clarke knew her friend was safe under the cover of the jungle, stowed away in their army plane. In fact, there was presumably no place safer.

Lincoln’s gravelly tone rumbled over the monitor suddenly, his monotone easing the trio out of their collective thoughts as Clarke’s mind shot into laser focus, informing them, “We’re three clicks from the door.”

“Be on your guard,” Bellamy’s deep voice ordered as they watched him nod at Monty, “Head up front and get that door open.” The team moved into an order of attack, with Lincoln and Monty disabling the door together. Miller had moved to cover Monty’s flank as Bellamy stood on Lincoln’s, and time seems to stop as Clarke watched Lincoln straighten up as Monty begins tapping away on a sleek laptop he slipped from his knapsack.

Suddenly, the monitor is filling with files, and Jasper makes a holler as a smile cracks over the director’s face, shaking her head as she muttered her approval. “Let’s keep it moving, guys,” she intones as the team slips through the entry way, their presence still seemingly unknown, and Clarke breathes her first sigh of relief. Jasper is tapping away like mad now on her motherboard, having abandoned his tablet, sorting through all the new information left behind by the Mountain Men in their own servers and compartmentalizing it for them to evaluate. Jasper starts talking first as he pulls up a large blue print of the building’s floor plan, a gleeful smile on his face at the double win as security footage begins to pop up, feeding them access to almost every tactical advantage they were hoping for, “It looks like you are going to want to head down to the right, up six floors to the hostages. After that, head back down another three floors and to the left to hit the research lab.”

“There should only be guards to worry about,” Bellamy responds gruffly, looking around to his team members on the screen before he begins moving forward, “We secure the hostages, send half the team out with them back to the plane, double back and be the extraction while the second team will attack the research facility and hopefully get out in time before they can fight back.”

“What’s wrong Blake, don’t feel like dealing with Reapers today?” Lexa coldly sneers from the back, and Clarke felt bad as the man opts to say nothing, and notices when Lincoln bumps the girl with a scold. As the team approaches the elevator doors, they open, revealing four guards.

What happened next was rather instantaneous. Bellamy is shooting before the doors are even all the way open, and has iced three of the men before Miller shoots one, and they’re all running as voices begin shouting from behind them. Jasper is typing like crazy, looping security footage so higher ups within the base won’t be alerted of their attack yet. The entire team somehow piles into the elevator on top of the knocked out guards, and a slight chuckle is heard from Monty as they go up.

Waiting…

That’s what it ends up being for Clarke the entire time. It drags for her, with feet like rocks in the back of her mind, she is constantly waiting. Waiting to see who’s still alive. Waiting to see if someone dies. Waiting for the split second reaction of death and it’s ever wavering weight of value. Clarke felt the constant burden of the deaths she’s seen, had a hand in, in her lifetime; she felt the ache of it in her bones and its heaviness ever present in her movements, the sadness that would suddenly add a gloom to her easiest days.

Clarke didn’t know what she would feel if she saw Finn Collins dead on the floor. She didn’t know what she would feel if she saw him alive in that room either – it was a catch twenty-two kind of day for Clarke Griffin, apparently. The director that after those two glaring emotions, there was the possibility of seeing Wells, her dear friend since childhood, dead on the concrete as well, and that outcome weighed a silent punch to the girl’s gut. Clarke decided she didn’t really know if she could handle death today, frankly.

She’s feeling incredibly detached from her body as she watches the elevator doors open, and a second sigh of relief catches in her throat before releasing quickly at the result of an empty hallway stretching before them.

“It’s quiet….” Jasper has his faux movie announcer voice on, probably using humor to cope with his anxiety, and two voices breathe out in unison.

“Too quiet,” Clarke’s confused whisper and Bellamy’s growl, and the director curled her right hand into a tight fist at the sound of Agent Blake chuckling afterwards, ignoring the blush that was barely even lighting up her fair cheekbones.

Time stopped again as Clarke waited a beat, two, and no guns were being shot. Why wasn’t this place crawling with Mountain Men? If there were this few, how did they disarm and subdue an entire base? What if they were using Reapers?

The team is rounding the corner already, making their way towards the hostage situation with quick ease, and if today was going to be a really good day, they would overpower the hostile enemy with marksmanship alone. Clarke was very fond of her strong tactical advantage with Bellamy leading Lincoln and Lexa, with Miller as his wild card.

The hostages are being kept in the base’s cafeteria, and the doors kick open with a bang as Agent Blake decides to make a statement, and Clarke catches Jasper shaking his head in her peripheral; she turns her head enough to catch him mouthing to himself, “So. Cool.”

She smirks and turns back to display, and there all three of them are suddenly, as well as Agents Indra and Gus, and a whole room full of guards. _That’s_ where they all were.

Suddenly, her team scattered, Monty in tow behind Bellamy, as gunfire erupted.

One beat. None of hers were dead.

Two beats. None yet.

Three beats.

Four beats.

Five beats.

Lincoln had climbed to his highest tactical advantage and was impaling arrows into Mountain Men with almost perfect accuracy. Lexa had dove head first into the battle, swords out and moving inhumanly fast. Bellamy had already emptied five clips and taken maybe two and half seconds in total to reload. Miller is shooting with one arm from behind a pillar, having pushed Monty to the floor, safe under the mercenary’s cover, and Clarke knew her other agents would be smart enough to drop for cover as well.

Six beats.

Seven beats.

There’s a lot of smoke.

“Guys?” Wick calls out.

“Finn? Wells? Maya?” Miller yells first, and there’s a lot of smoke obscuring their video feed, a lot of silence.

Finn and Wells answer their affirmations, Maya squeaking a moment later, and Bellamy’s voice becomes live as a shadow begins moving towards them, a second moving around its flank. Lincoln and Lexa both make soft noises, moving to secure the doors now that they had made their presence known. Clarke knew neither of them had the capacity for pleasantries.

“I’m good,” Monty breathes out shakily, and Clarke allows her third sigh of relief out at a job well done so far.

She turns off her earpiece suddenly and looks first at Wick, then Jasper, commanding quietly, “Off.”

They both obey immediately, which Clarke appreciates. She blinks up at the screen, biting her lip, “Who stays and who leads extraction?”

“Flesh zombies on extraction, Miller and Bellamy on the research facility,” Wick shrugged.

“Monty will need to go along to hack into the locking mechanism,” Jasper added with a frown as he looked up at the display.

“Don’t call them that,” Clarke scolded with a huff before reaching up to turn her earpiece back on, “Agent Blake, Agent Miller, and Agent Green – you’ll be in charge of getting into that research facility. Lincoln and Lexa, I want you to take the hostages back to the Quinjet and lead the extraction.”

“You heard the Princess, everybody,” Bellamy turned his back on the other agents and twirling his finger in the air as if to wrap it all up, pointing towards the back door, “Let’s go.”

Without any further ado, Monty and Miller simply followed in step, falling into a neat line as they begin to jog through the corridors. Lucky them.

“Nice seeing you guys too,” Finn calls out to Lincoln and Lexa. It makes Clarke immediately exasperated, which seemed to be Finn’s intended effect on the girl since he showed up on her base’s doorstep two years ago.

“C’mon Finn,” Raven speaks up for the first time over the radio, and she sounds the exact same amount of exasperated as Clarke feels. She understands in a sense too – Finn and Lincoln had been on a team together before both of the times Lincoln had been taken by Mountain Men. He had watched his friend disappear into something else. She just didn’t know why he had to be so confrontational about it still.

Agents Gus and Indra were silent and hadn’t moved a single inch, but Clarke knew both of them from their place in the WARRIOR program, and so they would follow up the rear because of the obvious tactical advantage.

Lincoln speaks up first. “We need you three to follow us back to the plane, where you will be escorted back to our base where it’s safe. Then, we --” he gestured between himself and Lexa, “will come back for the extraction so everyone can go home.”

“Where’s Clarke?” Finn asks next, shifting from foot to foot as he glances at the nearest security camera, and it shows up on the display, making Clarke feel incredibly uncomfortable as she sighs. She’s not the only one – Lexa lets out a groan of sorts, banging the back door open with all her might as she basically snarls, “Leave him. Let’s move.”

Nobody missed Raven’s quiet murmur, “Fuck you.” Nobody just wanted to address it.

With that, Lincoln and Lexa exit, which causes Wells and Maya to go jogging towards the door, Finn moving lazily behind them with the two warriors bringing up the rear. Clarke rolled her eyes and caught Wick doing the same with a smirk.

From there, everything goes smoothly. Clarke falls into her normal stupor, staring at the screen as she counts the moments passing, and waiting for something to go wrong. But somehow, that doesn’t happen. The research facility ended up being a bust; Monty was able to scan the servers for activity and find what information the Mountain Men took, but it had been gutted of ARK technology otherwise – a real loss for the agency, but not a surprise.

The extraction ended up being completely unnecessary, and although Lexa was happy to receive the order to stay on the plane, Lincoln had slipped out and waited by the entry way for Agent Blake, Green, and Miller. Clarke didn’t mind.

She falls into her director’s chair as the team’s plane takes off, taking out her earpiece and powering it down as she relaxes. Jasper turns off the display monitor, only keeping his ear piece on with Wick so they could both continue to speak with their partners, relocating to Monty’s tech bay. She figures she has a solid three hours to nap before she has to give a debrief of any kind.

Clarke waits for the boys to exit her office before she begins to untie her combat boots, padding across the circular room to a symmetrical couch lodged away from her desk, reaching next to the sofa and into a neat black cube for the pillow and blanket she kept tucked away.

The fatigue from the anxiety of a mission was often what booted Clarke unconscious, and she had eaten a big lunch. She figured she deserved this as her job well done. And when she awoke, she got to deal with her ex-boyfriend and mother and boss, but she would also get to see her childhood friend and plus, none of her agents were dead. So she could chalk the afternoon up as a win. Her head thumping the pillow, Clarke blew a few golden tendrils of hair out of her face before allowing her eyes to flutter shut, her lips relaxing out of the tight line she normally has them drawn in.

She didn’t dream. But Clarke preferred that most days.


End file.
